I'm writing this entry as I sit here in the very last seat on the first class cabin, rocking methodically back and forth, destroying my handwriting. I'm surrounded by French tourists and a group of men playing cards for small Ariary notes. The railway was opened in 1936 after ten years of construction and is an improtant economic link for the banana- and coffee-producing villages along its line. We have passed rice fields, tea plantations, barren hillsides, virgin forest, eucalypt plantations and stopped at the platforms of numerous villages where an amazing array of foods have been offered to us.
Bright purple chinese guava in baskets; bunches of yellow locuts; piles of carefully arranged mandarins; ruby red freshwater crayfish; meatballs and sausages, ready to be piled onto baguettes; and the usual array of fried bread, samosas, green chilis and the like.You never go hungry on this trip! The train passes through numerous embankments and a whopping 48 tunnels, covering 163km from an altitude of 1100m in Fianar to sea level at Manakara. It's a pretty amazing journey.
We passed mountainsides cleared of most of their vegetation on the last leg of the journey, bar the beautiful traveller's palms that grew back more quickly than anything else, before spending hte last hour or so in the dark before arriving in Manakar on the east coast of the country.
And then ... the onslaught of pousse-pousse drivers at the station. They were certainly pushy bastards and eventually we chose two of them to cart us across town towards the beachside hotel we'd chosen; what then ensured was really frustraing. Frist the two drivers wouldnt accept the agreed price and wanted more $. then all of the hotels on the beachside were booked out, and as we were so annoyed with our drivers we didn't want to pay them any more mondy, so we spent the next 2 hours wandering around in th dark, looking for hotels that were either booked out or closed. Crap!
Eventually we stopped in at La Guignette Hotel and asked for some help - were ther ANY other hotels open at this time of night (9:30pm) where we could stay?! The lovely Madame Rose, the restaurant's owner, then proceeded to take us in and drove us around town to various hotels before La Flamboyant took us in, in the centre-ville.We were very grateful once again for the kindness of locals who helped us out when we'd arrived late at night with nowhere to stay!
So, the next day, we vowed that we would return to La Guignette to repay Madame Rose through patronage of her restaurant. We spent the day wandering the town, which wasn't a big place, but was so spread out it was extremely easy to get lost! I think we basically covered one end of town to the other by the time we'd walked across the bridge to the beach, eaten some rather average lunch NOT with Madame Rose (she is a good Christian woman who goes to church on Sundays!), strolled along the huge beach wall with its gushing openings, watched the fishermen in their pirogues, looked for the Jardin Tropik and its amazing insects - to no avail! - and walked all the way across to the other side of town to book a taxi brousse for the next day. Manakara certainly is a massive sprawl! But we kept our promise of patronising La Guigenette for some dessert of banane flambe and a G&T which we taught the waitress how to make - the bottle had never even been opened!
It was a nice way to spend our last night in Manakara, and the next morning we set off toward Ranomafana. Our taxi brousse only departed half an hour late, it wasn't even full, and vazaaha were the majority of passengers. WEIRD! In fact it was a very comfortable, and speedy, journey on a good road - something we'd rarely experience during our time here. Eventually the taxi brousse became quite full - but at least it wasn't packed with 25 adults and 8 children...
Monday 30 May 2011
Monday 23 May 2011
Parc National d'Andringitra
As we climbed along the sometimes paved, sometimes cobbled but mostly dirt road toward Andringitra the scenery became more and more beautiful: the terraced rice padis below us in the valleys, their owners' houses perched above them; the treeless hills above, bereft of all vegetation for many years. Eventually we reached the entrance ot the park, signed ourselves in and set off.
It took a good hour to reach the actual boundary of the park, but once we had crossed it, the change in scenery was quite dramatic - forested hillsides surouded us, it felt much cooler, and there were two huge cascades that confronted us at the first hill top. Said to have aided a previous royal couple conceive a child, one cascade was the male and the other the female, the King and Queen bathing in their respective waterfalls in order to bring about a miracle. They could have just had sex. It's not rocket science, boys and girls.
We made our way past a gushing river beofre scaling the first hillside through beautiful forest, huffing and puffing our way up to the first plateau to where the vegetation had a very alpine feel to it. It had suddenly become quite cold and after donning scarves and jumpers we continued our way through the Tasmanian-esque 'tundra', picking delicious red berries as we went. Another ascent - past grazing zebu who, under the Park's community agreement, are allowed to exist inside the boundary - took us up to a moon-like plateau of huge, white lichen-covered boulders, which we skipped and scrambled over as dusk approached. A lone falcon sat perched atop the red-hued rocks tinged by the setting sun and watched us quietly as we passed. What we hadn't anticipated as we continued downward toward the brilliant red clouds was a night walk - and a long one! Almost two hours later after traipsing the rocky descent by torch light, we reached our riverside campsite, disappointed we hadn't been able to see it and the approach to it at all! But walking during the night is a very different expereience, the sounds of the environment were more prounounced and we walked under a ceiling of beautiful stars. It also meant that the next day we awoke, after a delicious dinner that included zebu kebabs and chocolate bananas (yum!) and some stories by the fire with Gege and Freddie, we were pleasantly surprised to see that we were still on quite a high plateau, even though we had descended for some time and there was a river nearby.
It had been a cold night, so our next morning's start was a slow one. But like our reptilian friends, once we got going in the sun, life was good. We headed off across the rocky terrain, again on the descent and past the other boundary of the Park. We left Freddie behind and Gege then led us down into the valley; we were now surrounded by grassland, bare hills and sheer granite cliffs, the bright green padis laid out below us like mosaics. We passed htrough a small villae beofre reaching our resting place for the second night - Mara Camp - a permanently staffed camp, well set up, with a great shared dining area. We felt a bit spoiled to arrive to our tents already set up and a hot lunch all ready for us!
After gorging ourselves on cassava and pork, it was more trekking for yours truly up the nearest mountain - Pic Chameleon, so named because the protruding rocks on the top of the mountain did resemble quite a realistic little critter. We first descended into forest - a rare signt in Madagascar and the Tsanaroa massiv, still only present in pockets such as this - and watched some maki catta (ring-tailed lemurs) playing in the trees before the rather steep ascent to the Pic.
Picking guava and spotting zebu on our way up the grassy hillside, we followed small rivers and irrigation challens dug out by the locals to feed their rice padis, and ascended the grassy hillside to hte Pic. The higher I climbed the more amazed I was that there were still zebu higher than us - right up to the base of the cliffs. The view from the top of Pic Chameleon was pretty special; all around us were huge granite mountains, including Pic Boby, Madagascar's second highest peak; the green rice padis stretching off into the distance gave the bare hills a greener tinge than they desrved, having been cleared of all their trees. On the few monutains that did still have some vegetation rose a beautiful haze that made everything glow in the afternoon sun.
On the way back down, hastily picking our way through the rocks, I took a plunge into the piscine near the camp to the amusement of Gege, who I couldn't convince to jump in with me - he's smart and only goes in when the weather is hot! I was only able to stay in the water for about ten minutes it was so cold, and the disappearing sun didn't help either. But it was nice and refreshing.
We spent the evening chatting to a couple of American & Canadian researchers studying the behavious of maki catta in both Tranaroa and Anja reserves, and learned quite a bit about their habits. They knew a lot more than the guides at Anja! they were both great company and a welcome addition to our normally-two-person conversations; and along with Emille, a student from Tana who was also assisting them, we shared an interesting meal of scrambled egg and pasta - which I now know goes very well together!
The next day's 10km hike back to the village was beautiful in the warm morning sun, and we would catch a typically crowded taxi brousse to Ambalavao. And while they didn't quite pack them in like last time, they certainly came a close second! So we arrived back in Ambalavao late morning, hoping to grab some of our favourite yoghurt or share some lunch with our lovely guide, Gege; but we were quickly shunted onto the next available taxi brousse as our friens at JB Trekking were aware that we wanted to get to Fianarantsoato take the Fianar - Cote Est (FCE) train the next day. And so we set off to Fianar, only 60km away, which meant a welcome change to our usual mode of travel - looooong journeys on overcrowded taxi-brousses!
Our first impressions of Fianarantsoa weren't fantastic - the city is a sprawling beast, blanketing the many hils on which it is built; it has shades of Tana, but is nowhere near as beautuifl despite its winding alleys, old colonial buildings, cobbled streets and numerous stairs. The city seemed dirtier and with a more visible poor/begar element, more hassle from touts and the buildings shabbier. It also has a strange layout with not rela city centre, and all the facilities are located in a random scattered manner around town. Still, you could get what you needed in Fianar, without the crowded, oversized urban mass that is Tana.
I do still however much prefer its bigger brother by a long way and was glad that we only spent one night here, before heading off on our next advneture - a 9 hour train ride to the east coast town of Makassar, on the FCE train. Toot toot!
It took a good hour to reach the actual boundary of the park, but once we had crossed it, the change in scenery was quite dramatic - forested hillsides surouded us, it felt much cooler, and there were two huge cascades that confronted us at the first hill top. Said to have aided a previous royal couple conceive a child, one cascade was the male and the other the female, the King and Queen bathing in their respective waterfalls in order to bring about a miracle. They could have just had sex. It's not rocket science, boys and girls.
We made our way past a gushing river beofre scaling the first hillside through beautiful forest, huffing and puffing our way up to the first plateau to where the vegetation had a very alpine feel to it. It had suddenly become quite cold and after donning scarves and jumpers we continued our way through the Tasmanian-esque 'tundra', picking delicious red berries as we went. Another ascent - past grazing zebu who, under the Park's community agreement, are allowed to exist inside the boundary - took us up to a moon-like plateau of huge, white lichen-covered boulders, which we skipped and scrambled over as dusk approached. A lone falcon sat perched atop the red-hued rocks tinged by the setting sun and watched us quietly as we passed. What we hadn't anticipated as we continued downward toward the brilliant red clouds was a night walk - and a long one! Almost two hours later after traipsing the rocky descent by torch light, we reached our riverside campsite, disappointed we hadn't been able to see it and the approach to it at all! But walking during the night is a very different expereience, the sounds of the environment were more prounounced and we walked under a ceiling of beautiful stars. It also meant that the next day we awoke, after a delicious dinner that included zebu kebabs and chocolate bananas (yum!) and some stories by the fire with Gege and Freddie, we were pleasantly surprised to see that we were still on quite a high plateau, even though we had descended for some time and there was a river nearby.
It had been a cold night, so our next morning's start was a slow one. But like our reptilian friends, once we got going in the sun, life was good. We headed off across the rocky terrain, again on the descent and past the other boundary of the Park. We left Freddie behind and Gege then led us down into the valley; we were now surrounded by grassland, bare hills and sheer granite cliffs, the bright green padis laid out below us like mosaics. We passed htrough a small villae beofre reaching our resting place for the second night - Mara Camp - a permanently staffed camp, well set up, with a great shared dining area. We felt a bit spoiled to arrive to our tents already set up and a hot lunch all ready for us!
After gorging ourselves on cassava and pork, it was more trekking for yours truly up the nearest mountain - Pic Chameleon, so named because the protruding rocks on the top of the mountain did resemble quite a realistic little critter. We first descended into forest - a rare signt in Madagascar and the Tsanaroa massiv, still only present in pockets such as this - and watched some maki catta (ring-tailed lemurs) playing in the trees before the rather steep ascent to the Pic.
Picking guava and spotting zebu on our way up the grassy hillside, we followed small rivers and irrigation challens dug out by the locals to feed their rice padis, and ascended the grassy hillside to hte Pic. The higher I climbed the more amazed I was that there were still zebu higher than us - right up to the base of the cliffs. The view from the top of Pic Chameleon was pretty special; all around us were huge granite mountains, including Pic Boby, Madagascar's second highest peak; the green rice padis stretching off into the distance gave the bare hills a greener tinge than they desrved, having been cleared of all their trees. On the few monutains that did still have some vegetation rose a beautiful haze that made everything glow in the afternoon sun.
On the way back down, hastily picking our way through the rocks, I took a plunge into the piscine near the camp to the amusement of Gege, who I couldn't convince to jump in with me - he's smart and only goes in when the weather is hot! I was only able to stay in the water for about ten minutes it was so cold, and the disappearing sun didn't help either. But it was nice and refreshing.
We spent the evening chatting to a couple of American & Canadian researchers studying the behavious of maki catta in both Tranaroa and Anja reserves, and learned quite a bit about their habits. They knew a lot more than the guides at Anja! they were both great company and a welcome addition to our normally-two-person conversations; and along with Emille, a student from Tana who was also assisting them, we shared an interesting meal of scrambled egg and pasta - which I now know goes very well together!
The next day's 10km hike back to the village was beautiful in the warm morning sun, and we would catch a typically crowded taxi brousse to Ambalavao. And while they didn't quite pack them in like last time, they certainly came a close second! So we arrived back in Ambalavao late morning, hoping to grab some of our favourite yoghurt or share some lunch with our lovely guide, Gege; but we were quickly shunted onto the next available taxi brousse as our friens at JB Trekking were aware that we wanted to get to Fianarantsoato take the Fianar - Cote Est (FCE) train the next day. And so we set off to Fianar, only 60km away, which meant a welcome change to our usual mode of travel - looooong journeys on overcrowded taxi-brousses!
Our first impressions of Fianarantsoa weren't fantastic - the city is a sprawling beast, blanketing the many hils on which it is built; it has shades of Tana, but is nowhere near as beautuifl despite its winding alleys, old colonial buildings, cobbled streets and numerous stairs. The city seemed dirtier and with a more visible poor/begar element, more hassle from touts and the buildings shabbier. It also has a strange layout with not rela city centre, and all the facilities are located in a random scattered manner around town. Still, you could get what you needed in Fianar, without the crowded, oversized urban mass that is Tana.
I do still however much prefer its bigger brother by a long way and was glad that we only spent one night here, before heading off on our next advneture - a 9 hour train ride to the east coast town of Makassar, on the FCE train. Toot toot!
Wednesday 18 May 2011
Ambalavao
It's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it.
But this lovely little hilltop town is a beautiful place. Set high on the central Madagascan plateau, it is surrounded by soaring limestone massifs, smoothed and striped over time by the weather; emerald green rice padis; fields of cassava and maize; and herds of zebu being chased along the road by their minders. The surrounding villages have a distinctive difference to those further west, their two storey red facades glowing in the afternoon sun, balconies carved in great detail and adorned with drying cobs of corn. The town itself has a European appearance, the houses in the main street all colonial and crumbling, the wooden balconies once brightly painted but now faded and damaged due to lack of care. Ambalavao is likeable not only for its lack of cars and pousse-pousses, but its friendly inhabitants all calling out 'bonjour vazaha!' as they saunter past on foot, or glide along on bikes.
We were surprised at how quickly it became cold once the sun went down, and were soon diving into our bags to score thermals, socks and scarves for the cold evenings, where we scoured the city seeking out hot cups of tea and lasopy - the Chinese-inspired noodle soup.
We'd timed our visit to Ambalavao pretty well, as the following day was market day. Set right in the centre of town, the market is a bustling hive of activity, with villagers coming from far and wide to sell their fresh produce: stacks of brightly coloured raffia baskets; dried fish threaded onto skewers; piles of carefully arranged potato greens, persimmons, tomatoes and onions and handfuls of garlic cloves.
In the other part of this vast market you could find almost anything: Chelsea FC belts, battery operated radios, posters of Britney Spears, religious hangings for your loungeroom wall, hair clips, hand-made soap, vials of veterinarian injections, second-hand clothing, dried herbs and bark, traditional medicine. You name it, they sold it. The butchery section had vast displays of freshly cut slabs of meat, zebu heads and strings of sausages hung up everywhere. We had loads of fun wandering around in here.
But Ambalavao is best known for its zebu market - the biggest in the country. On a lofty, picturesque hilltop just outside of town, the people come from far and wide - sometimes walking for days on end, herding their animals to market - in order to buy and sell their stock. Zebu, the prized possession of anyone who can afford them, determine your wealth, status and ability to get married, based on the number of these beasts that you own. We wandered around the market for a while, watching the nervous animals jittering and shuffling away as potential buyers checked them out from all sides, the owners identified by the big sticks that they held and the way that they closely guarded their stock.
But this lovely little hilltop town is a beautiful place. Set high on the central Madagascan plateau, it is surrounded by soaring limestone massifs, smoothed and striped over time by the weather; emerald green rice padis; fields of cassava and maize; and herds of zebu being chased along the road by their minders. The surrounding villages have a distinctive difference to those further west, their two storey red facades glowing in the afternoon sun, balconies carved in great detail and adorned with drying cobs of corn. The town itself has a European appearance, the houses in the main street all colonial and crumbling, the wooden balconies once brightly painted but now faded and damaged due to lack of care. Ambalavao is likeable not only for its lack of cars and pousse-pousses, but its friendly inhabitants all calling out 'bonjour vazaha!' as they saunter past on foot, or glide along on bikes.
We were surprised at how quickly it became cold once the sun went down, and were soon diving into our bags to score thermals, socks and scarves for the cold evenings, where we scoured the city seeking out hot cups of tea and lasopy - the Chinese-inspired noodle soup.
We'd timed our visit to Ambalavao pretty well, as the following day was market day. Set right in the centre of town, the market is a bustling hive of activity, with villagers coming from far and wide to sell their fresh produce: stacks of brightly coloured raffia baskets; dried fish threaded onto skewers; piles of carefully arranged potato greens, persimmons, tomatoes and onions and handfuls of garlic cloves.
In the other part of this vast market you could find almost anything: Chelsea FC belts, battery operated radios, posters of Britney Spears, religious hangings for your loungeroom wall, hair clips, hand-made soap, vials of veterinarian injections, second-hand clothing, dried herbs and bark, traditional medicine. You name it, they sold it. The butchery section had vast displays of freshly cut slabs of meat, zebu heads and strings of sausages hung up everywhere. We had loads of fun wandering around in here.
But Ambalavao is best known for its zebu market - the biggest in the country. On a lofty, picturesque hilltop just outside of town, the people come from far and wide - sometimes walking for days on end, herding their animals to market - in order to buy and sell their stock. Zebu, the prized possession of anyone who can afford them, determine your wealth, status and ability to get married, based on the number of these beasts that you own. We wandered around the market for a while, watching the nervous animals jittering and shuffling away as potential buyers checked them out from all sides, the owners identified by the big sticks that they held and the way that they closely guarded their stock.
We could have watching the comings and goings of Ambalavao's markets all day. But we had a more interesting activity to look forward to: four days trekking through Parc National d'Andringitra.
We'd wondered where the really huge zebu with their vicious-looking horns were as we'd wandered around the market - sure, there were plenty of them around but they were fairly small in size - but our question was soon answered as our 4x4 wound its way slowly down the hill. We passed hundreds of the massive beasts, tired from many days' walking, all bottle-necked at a certain point in the road, but obviously headed for the market. We discovered that before being allowed for sale, all zebu must be checked by the police (to ensure they're not stolen) and be given a once-over by a vet (to ensure they're not sick). Fair enough; good system. So we bid the cow police and their vet buddies farewell and headed off towards the park.
Thursday 12 May 2011
How many people can you fit in a taxi brousse?
Official record: 25 adults and 8 children.
Official capacity: 14.
Ha!
Considering Madagscar has so many police and military checkpoints - on approach and departure from almost every town - I often wondered whether any of the police or military officers at ANY of the checkpoints would stop us and say something, anything ... from a public safety perspective, perhaps? But we were always just waved through.
In this particular case, as we made our way from Ranohira to Ambalavao, and as you'd expect from such an overloaded vehicle, the engine gave way and we wondered whether we'd be sitting by the roadside for a few hours. But to her credit, our little taxi brousse sputtered back into life and we were on our way again.
And somehow, these bruised and battered vehicles manage to keep going. Australia's bush mechanics have got nothing on their African counterparts.
Official capacity: 14.
Ha!
Considering Madagscar has so many police and military checkpoints - on approach and departure from almost every town - I often wondered whether any of the police or military officers at ANY of the checkpoints would stop us and say something, anything ... from a public safety perspective, perhaps? But we were always just waved through.
In this particular case, as we made our way from Ranohira to Ambalavao, and as you'd expect from such an overloaded vehicle, the engine gave way and we wondered whether we'd be sitting by the roadside for a few hours. But to her credit, our little taxi brousse sputtered back into life and we were on our way again.
And somehow, these bruised and battered vehicles manage to keep going. Australia's bush mechanics have got nothing on their African counterparts.
Tuesday 10 May 2011
The stunning Parc National d'Isalo
I don't want to make you too jealous, but I am going to detail our trek in Isalo. It was amazing.
We passed through endless savannah on our moring walk to the park from Ranohira, passing herds of zebu and small huts, with the beautiful sandstone plateau rising out of the plain on our left, becoming ever more imposing as we approached. Our day's walking would take us to Canyon des Makis (Maki being the local name for lemurs), the spectacular sheer cliffs and huge boulders inside sheltering green, lush vegetation and giving us some fun scrambling activity for an hour or so. We stopped at the beautiful 'King's Pool' for a dip, and after a picnic made our way through the forest to the Canyon des Rattes before setting up camp for the night under huge mango trees.
The next morning, waking to the red blaze of the sun on the towering cliffs before us, we set off toward the rock face, and ascended up onto the plateau, iguanas watching us from their sunny perches on rocks, a family of ring-tailed lemurs out for their morning breakfast in the small pocket of forest on the way up. The sandstone mountains were spectacular, stretching off into the distance as far as the eye could see, an ever-present guardian of the vast grassland plains below. We spent the day hiking this hot, dry landscape, past burnt trees - remnants of a fire through here two years ago - and through shoulder-high grass, obscured canyons stretching away in the distance, their iron-red colour blazing in the hot sun. The rock formations of this ancient landscape were spectacular; as I sat on what seemed like the edge of the world, I mused at how much they reminded me of the Kimberley.
Our campsite on the second night was down in a cool valley directly facing a sheer cliff, shaded by huge pandanus that fed greedily on a beautiful pool and spring-fed waterfall. Not a bad place for our evening bath and another simple but delicious meal after a hot day's walking.
We hiked across the plateau the next morning to the Piscine Naturelle, and it was here that we encountered our first large group of tourists in the park, taking a dip in the picturesque pool, surrounded by pandanus and fed by another beautiful waterfall. While there unfortunately wasn't much water flowing and there seemed to be a lot of sand, it was a beautiful place to swim - especially when the other trekkers left and we had the place to ourselves... temporarily at least. After not wanting to ever leave, we finally trekked back across the hot, sandy plateau to a lookout over the savannah plains called The Crest. We circled the diverging canyons of the Circuit de Namaza before descending down into them to camp for the night.
The Namaza campsite was clearly on the day tripper agenda and we passed quite a few other visitors. But the presence of regular food also ensured the presence of makis! We were able to watch a large family of eight ring-tailed and six brown lemurs in their acrobatic pursuits of leaves and fruit for quite a while. One cheeky golden female even stole some of our bananas. Little bugger. Couldn't help but forgive such a beautiful creature though.
Our night at the campsite was spoiled somewhat by the presence of the girlfriend of our cook Petray, who didn't seem to mind sharing her with Bosco in the tent next door. Weird! At least we had some local punch to soften the blow - and this time we actually got to drink it, unlike the previous bottle which mysteriously disappeared down Bosco's throat the night before.
Our last morning's hike took us through the gorge to the two natural pools along the river, Piscine Noir and Piscine Bleu, where we had a very refreshing (ok, it was bloody cold!) swim - mostly because the sun was too lazy to get up yet. A visit to the beautiful, delicate and aptly-named Cascade des Nymphes also took us through more beautiful canyon scenery before the long walk back across the savannah in the hot sun, trailing after Petray, his girlfriend and Bosco, who set a cracking pace despite carrying all of the cooking equipment and tents. We hadn't really wanted to end this trek, but we had to eventually.
I now have a new favourite place in the world - Parc National d'Isalo.
We passed through endless savannah on our moring walk to the park from Ranohira, passing herds of zebu and small huts, with the beautiful sandstone plateau rising out of the plain on our left, becoming ever more imposing as we approached. Our day's walking would take us to Canyon des Makis (Maki being the local name for lemurs), the spectacular sheer cliffs and huge boulders inside sheltering green, lush vegetation and giving us some fun scrambling activity for an hour or so. We stopped at the beautiful 'King's Pool' for a dip, and after a picnic made our way through the forest to the Canyon des Rattes before setting up camp for the night under huge mango trees.
The next morning, waking to the red blaze of the sun on the towering cliffs before us, we set off toward the rock face, and ascended up onto the plateau, iguanas watching us from their sunny perches on rocks, a family of ring-tailed lemurs out for their morning breakfast in the small pocket of forest on the way up. The sandstone mountains were spectacular, stretching off into the distance as far as the eye could see, an ever-present guardian of the vast grassland plains below. We spent the day hiking this hot, dry landscape, past burnt trees - remnants of a fire through here two years ago - and through shoulder-high grass, obscured canyons stretching away in the distance, their iron-red colour blazing in the hot sun. The rock formations of this ancient landscape were spectacular; as I sat on what seemed like the edge of the world, I mused at how much they reminded me of the Kimberley.
Our campsite on the second night was down in a cool valley directly facing a sheer cliff, shaded by huge pandanus that fed greedily on a beautiful pool and spring-fed waterfall. Not a bad place for our evening bath and another simple but delicious meal after a hot day's walking.
We hiked across the plateau the next morning to the Piscine Naturelle, and it was here that we encountered our first large group of tourists in the park, taking a dip in the picturesque pool, surrounded by pandanus and fed by another beautiful waterfall. While there unfortunately wasn't much water flowing and there seemed to be a lot of sand, it was a beautiful place to swim - especially when the other trekkers left and we had the place to ourselves... temporarily at least. After not wanting to ever leave, we finally trekked back across the hot, sandy plateau to a lookout over the savannah plains called The Crest. We circled the diverging canyons of the Circuit de Namaza before descending down into them to camp for the night.
The Namaza campsite was clearly on the day tripper agenda and we passed quite a few other visitors. But the presence of regular food also ensured the presence of makis! We were able to watch a large family of eight ring-tailed and six brown lemurs in their acrobatic pursuits of leaves and fruit for quite a while. One cheeky golden female even stole some of our bananas. Little bugger. Couldn't help but forgive such a beautiful creature though.
Our night at the campsite was spoiled somewhat by the presence of the girlfriend of our cook Petray, who didn't seem to mind sharing her with Bosco in the tent next door. Weird! At least we had some local punch to soften the blow - and this time we actually got to drink it, unlike the previous bottle which mysteriously disappeared down Bosco's throat the night before.
Our last morning's hike took us through the gorge to the two natural pools along the river, Piscine Noir and Piscine Bleu, where we had a very refreshing (ok, it was bloody cold!) swim - mostly because the sun was too lazy to get up yet. A visit to the beautiful, delicate and aptly-named Cascade des Nymphes also took us through more beautiful canyon scenery before the long walk back across the savannah in the hot sun, trailing after Petray, his girlfriend and Bosco, who set a cracking pace despite carrying all of the cooking equipment and tents. We hadn't really wanted to end this trek, but we had to eventually.
I now have a new favourite place in the world - Parc National d'Isalo.
Thursday 5 May 2011
Interesting characters on the RN7
The Route National 7 is probably Madagscar's best road. And it's the one that most tourists frequent. For good reason, too; follow the RN7 and it leads you to some of the most easily accessible, and beautiful, national parks in the country, and if you're a gem hunter, straight through Madagascar's sapphire fields. We'd decided to travel the RN7 in reverse - direction, not gear, stoopid; its slow enough already! - and headed to the taxi brousse station in Toliara, planning on going to the little town of Ranohira.
Now if you go to the taxi brousse station in Toliara at 11:30am, you'll find that none of the taxi brousses actually leave until 2:30pm. You'd think we would have learned our lesson by now, and done our research into departure times - so that we wouldn't have to sit around at the taxi brousse station all day, especially as 2:30pm departure time actually means something more like 4pm.
So, we waited.
... and waited. For what seemed like an eternity. Because it was. Luckily the goings-on around the station kept us interested and amused for the first hour. Especially the four guys trying to put a sheep with a long tail onto a pousse-pousse (rickshaw).
Naturally, the taxi brousses don't leave until they're full. Unfortunately they don't fill one up, then send it on its way and start on the next one; whoever can get the business of each traveller does so, and you have a whole bunch of half-filled taxi brousses that then never leave, even when they have "14:30" plastered all over their windscreens. [end of rant about the joys of local transport]
And then, Interesting Character Of The Day Number One turns up. Initially a chatty, friendly soul, this naturalised old Frenchman became increasingly agitated when by 3:30pm we still had five empty seats. Letting everyone know his growing frustration about not departing, he stormed up to the office, smacked down a bundle of cash and paid for the remaining seats himself, demanding we depart tout suite. Deal. After a lot of yelling and carrying on, much to the dismay of the reserved Malagasy, our French friend cajoled the driver into leaving ... only to get stuck at the first police check point, the staff of which found it highly irregular that a taxi brousse was departing when it wasn't full, and loaded a couple of extras on board. We were now thoroughly pissed off with our fellow vazaha who we rapidly tried to distance ourselves from, especially when he continued to carry on at every opportunity, and expected everyone else on the bus to thank him for paying for the empty seats so that we could leave. He was extremely rude and we hated the whole situation - and him.
Didn't make things any more enjoyable when we got a flat tyre... ahh the world of public transport in Madagascar. Didn't make our French friend any happier either, who flew into yet another rage at the driver. Grrrr. Thank god the RN7 is beautifully paved, so that when we did get going again it was smooth sailing. That one, simple thing made me happy. And we were making good time, and looking like hitting Ranohira by around 8pm. Sweet.
But no! things are never that simple! hehe... a strange noise started coming out of the front of the vehicle, and we slowed down to crawling pace for ten minutes, our driving seemingly happy to just crawl along. Finally, after howls of protest from the passengers, we stopped off in Manambo, in the dark of night, at a gem merchant's office. We were in the middle of sapphire mining territory, and scattered around these parts are plenty of signs advertising gems for commercial sale.
Enter Interesting Character Of The Day Number 2. Mr Falil of Ahmet Gems Pty Ltd. Mr Falil was a Sri Lankan gem merchant who was living out here in the middle of nowhere, supporting his family back home through the gem trade. Upon finding out I was Australian, he proceeded to get very excited about cricket, the subject of our conversation for the next hour. Mr Falil organised for his 'best friend,' a certain Mr Mark - who he gushed over before and during his brief visits - to drop by to sort out the taxi brousse's axle problem and to placate our still-irate Frenchman. Mr Falil assured us that as he was the boss of his company, and VERY well connected, it would be completely safe for us to stay in his plush white office with its cushy leather lounge chairs and 'full guest facilities'. He also had security with guns (in fact the head of the district police... huh? well connected indeed!) patrolling his property, so we should not feel unsafe, but consider ourselves VERY LUCKY that we had stopped there. (did I mention that we should consider ourselves VERY LUCKY that we had stopped at Mr Falil's place?).
Mr Falil kept disappearing inside to, as we soon realised, get a swig of local rhum or other intoxicating beverage that he had hidden out the back, returning to chain smoke cigarette after cigarette. He because increasingly more free in his criticisms of Madagascan life, its 'poor people', its corrupt government with no respect for human rights, of being a foreigner in such a dangerous place. Apparently as two women travelling alone, we were taking A LOT of RISKS.
So, drunk as he was, Mr Falil was probably a good guy with a good heart. He repeatedly invited us to come to Sri Lanka to meet him, where we would experience first class hospitality - and of course, he would greet us personally at the airport; all we had to do was make the call and he would jump on the next plane - and we would discover paradise. YES!
Eventually, our Malagasy friends fixed the problem with the axle and we were able to go on our merry way. At some point during all of this our French friend had departed on the back of Mr Mark's motorcycle, to our relief, and we were able to proceed without having to listen to any more of his carry-on. When we finally reached the tiny town of Ranohira my heart sank when I saw everything closed up and no-one in the street (this happens when it's midnight in rural Madagscar). Eventually we found our bed for the night via Chez Momo, and luckily our host of the same name was up watching a football match and was able to accommodate us! We decided that being undecided about a trek early tomorrow morning - to nearby Parc National d'Isalo, the reason we'd come - was the best option, and promptly went to bed.
But it didn't take long for us to decide the next morning, after waking to the beautiful sight of the sun shining on the sandstone massif in front of us, and a decent breakfast to fill our empty stomachs, that a trek was definitely in order. We planned our route over our coffee; a four day trek into Isalo it would be, and an hour later we were setting off into the savannah-like countryside, led by our guide Bosco. It was nice to be on the move again - on foot. Enough taxi-brousses for a while.
Now if you go to the taxi brousse station in Toliara at 11:30am, you'll find that none of the taxi brousses actually leave until 2:30pm. You'd think we would have learned our lesson by now, and done our research into departure times - so that we wouldn't have to sit around at the taxi brousse station all day, especially as 2:30pm departure time actually means something more like 4pm.
So, we waited.
... and waited. For what seemed like an eternity. Because it was. Luckily the goings-on around the station kept us interested and amused for the first hour. Especially the four guys trying to put a sheep with a long tail onto a pousse-pousse (rickshaw).
Naturally, the taxi brousses don't leave until they're full. Unfortunately they don't fill one up, then send it on its way and start on the next one; whoever can get the business of each traveller does so, and you have a whole bunch of half-filled taxi brousses that then never leave, even when they have "14:30" plastered all over their windscreens. [end of rant about the joys of local transport]
And then, Interesting Character Of The Day Number One turns up. Initially a chatty, friendly soul, this naturalised old Frenchman became increasingly agitated when by 3:30pm we still had five empty seats. Letting everyone know his growing frustration about not departing, he stormed up to the office, smacked down a bundle of cash and paid for the remaining seats himself, demanding we depart tout suite. Deal. After a lot of yelling and carrying on, much to the dismay of the reserved Malagasy, our French friend cajoled the driver into leaving ... only to get stuck at the first police check point, the staff of which found it highly irregular that a taxi brousse was departing when it wasn't full, and loaded a couple of extras on board. We were now thoroughly pissed off with our fellow vazaha who we rapidly tried to distance ourselves from, especially when he continued to carry on at every opportunity, and expected everyone else on the bus to thank him for paying for the empty seats so that we could leave. He was extremely rude and we hated the whole situation - and him.
Didn't make things any more enjoyable when we got a flat tyre... ahh the world of public transport in Madagascar. Didn't make our French friend any happier either, who flew into yet another rage at the driver. Grrrr. Thank god the RN7 is beautifully paved, so that when we did get going again it was smooth sailing. That one, simple thing made me happy. And we were making good time, and looking like hitting Ranohira by around 8pm. Sweet.
But no! things are never that simple! hehe... a strange noise started coming out of the front of the vehicle, and we slowed down to crawling pace for ten minutes, our driving seemingly happy to just crawl along. Finally, after howls of protest from the passengers, we stopped off in Manambo, in the dark of night, at a gem merchant's office. We were in the middle of sapphire mining territory, and scattered around these parts are plenty of signs advertising gems for commercial sale.
Enter Interesting Character Of The Day Number 2. Mr Falil of Ahmet Gems Pty Ltd. Mr Falil was a Sri Lankan gem merchant who was living out here in the middle of nowhere, supporting his family back home through the gem trade. Upon finding out I was Australian, he proceeded to get very excited about cricket, the subject of our conversation for the next hour. Mr Falil organised for his 'best friend,' a certain Mr Mark - who he gushed over before and during his brief visits - to drop by to sort out the taxi brousse's axle problem and to placate our still-irate Frenchman. Mr Falil assured us that as he was the boss of his company, and VERY well connected, it would be completely safe for us to stay in his plush white office with its cushy leather lounge chairs and 'full guest facilities'. He also had security with guns (in fact the head of the district police... huh? well connected indeed!) patrolling his property, so we should not feel unsafe, but consider ourselves VERY LUCKY that we had stopped there. (did I mention that we should consider ourselves VERY LUCKY that we had stopped at Mr Falil's place?).
Mr Falil kept disappearing inside to, as we soon realised, get a swig of local rhum or other intoxicating beverage that he had hidden out the back, returning to chain smoke cigarette after cigarette. He because increasingly more free in his criticisms of Madagascan life, its 'poor people', its corrupt government with no respect for human rights, of being a foreigner in such a dangerous place. Apparently as two women travelling alone, we were taking A LOT of RISKS.
So, drunk as he was, Mr Falil was probably a good guy with a good heart. He repeatedly invited us to come to Sri Lanka to meet him, where we would experience first class hospitality - and of course, he would greet us personally at the airport; all we had to do was make the call and he would jump on the next plane - and we would discover paradise. YES!
Eventually, our Malagasy friends fixed the problem with the axle and we were able to go on our merry way. At some point during all of this our French friend had departed on the back of Mr Mark's motorcycle, to our relief, and we were able to proceed without having to listen to any more of his carry-on. When we finally reached the tiny town of Ranohira my heart sank when I saw everything closed up and no-one in the street (this happens when it's midnight in rural Madagscar). Eventually we found our bed for the night via Chez Momo, and luckily our host of the same name was up watching a football match and was able to accommodate us! We decided that being undecided about a trek early tomorrow morning - to nearby Parc National d'Isalo, the reason we'd come - was the best option, and promptly went to bed.
But it didn't take long for us to decide the next morning, after waking to the beautiful sight of the sun shining on the sandstone massif in front of us, and a decent breakfast to fill our empty stomachs, that a trek was definitely in order. We planned our route over our coffee; a four day trek into Isalo it would be, and an hour later we were setting off into the savannah-like countryside, led by our guide Bosco. It was nice to be on the move again - on foot. Enough taxi-brousses for a while.
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